Disjointed

One of my more awful readers once looked at a photo of me sans makeup and wrote, “Is that rosacea?” It is. Mild case. Here’s MY comment: Is that a jerk whose ass would make me a Sunday face®* commenting? (*(C) My gramma. All rights reserved.)

Say, June, weren’t you drying your hair LAST time we talked?

Yes. Yes, I was. Hygiene. It’s repetitive.

Anyway, we haven’t talked since Friday and we have a lot of topics to cover, so I thought today I’d use subheads, so you don’t end up with fucking whiplash while I bounce from topic to topic. We’re going to be organized today.

Shut up.

Okay, topic one.

Wee wee wee, or the F wordI don’t want you to worry or anything. I don’t want a fuss.

Shut up shuttin’ up.

But I BROKE MY TOE. The little one. Last night, I was headed to bed, like a normal person, and BOOM, Lottie’s bone, this big giant lug of a bone–that Edsel unearthed recently–was in the middle of the room and I didn’t see it and

I

IMMEDIATELY

KNEW

something was very wrong. I yelled so loudly that Edsel stood under the table. Which, by the way, we can still see you, Letter C.

not to yell, mom. make edz curl up.

But speaking of Edsel, it’s weird, because just yesterday afternoon I was walking that cur and we passed the yard where I sprained my ankle four years ago, and I thought about how as soon as I landed on that grass, that grassy knoll–what IS a knoll?–I knew I’d really hurt myself badly. I reflected on that the rest of the walk: What a brave faithful dog Edsel was that day, not leaving my side even though I’d dropped the leash. Tall Boy, who isn’t allowed to talk to me now that he’s married, driving down and lifting me into the car. Because he was staying with me at the time. PLATONICALLY.

Anyway, I worried last night that I wouldn’t be able to sleep, it hurt so fucking much, but I did because I’m Jabba the Hut. I can sleep through anything. I actually have no idea if Jabba the Hut sleeps, as I have not seen any of the Star Wars movies since the first one in 1977. But he strikes me as lazy.

So my plan is to hobble. And complain. That wraps up what Ima do for my broken toe. Doctors can’t do much for it, I already know this. And yes, I know it’s broken. I’ll spare you the details.

TrimLast week, I was reading some article or another and I found a site called Trim. And no, I did not just link you to a site involving lady bits. Trim can tell you all the stupid things you’re subscribed to, that you may have forgotten about, and they’ll also do things like contact AT&T and say, “Lower her bill.”

As of last week, I quit Stitch Fix (I’d already quit that the week earlier, technically), Weight Watchers, Netflix, Amazon Prime, some support group for other anxious attachers that I joined for $21 a month, HBO, Apple Music and other annoying things I was paying for automatically and not noticing.

It is likely I will lose my mind and rejoin some of those, but for now, nobody is automatically taking anything from my account each month except for my car insurance.

But speaking of money and trim, I came up with an idea yesterday that I presented on Facebook to mixed results.

I had an idea for how I could lose weight OR you would make money. We’d have to have someone hold all the money, maybe send it all to Faithful Reader Paula or something, and I like how I’ve roped her into this without asking, but here is my idea:

I tell you my current horrifying weight and my goal weight. Which believe it or not are not the same. And then I set a date for me to REACH that weight. All of you put $5 in, and if I reach the goal, I get your hard-earned $5.

But if I FAIL to reach it, I not only give you your $5 back, I pay you an additional $5.

Then I have two incentives: To get rich (okay, to get maybe $50) and to not lose money.

See? It’s a good idea! Some of you hated it, though. But those folks don’t have to play. Are you in?

Photos and so onI’ve spent a great deal of time trying to get this one Golden Girls gif onto my blog, and never could, and does anyone know how to get a gif on your blog? If you tell me to place the embedded code in my HTML I will break your little toe.

My point is, I’ve used up a lot of my morning, and now I hafta go, and I know I have to tell you about m’chakras (my crown chakra was blocked. Now it isn’t) and about Ned and Nancy, but I have run out of the time.

Also, I took many photos this weekend. So here are some of those, and I will fill you in on the rest tomorrow. TUNE IN tomorrow for JUNE’S RIVETING LIFE, part 3,271.

(See. That’s how I run out of time. Because I just had to save this draft, leave this page, go figure out how to discover how many posts I’ve written in this life, then come back and write “3,271” so I’d be accurate.)

After spending all yesterday morning tryina figure out how I’d lose weight and make you all get involved, I drove to the country and got ice cream. Those stubborn pounds.

I LOVE YOU COWWWWS

It’s a real dairy, and they make the ice cream on site.

There used to be Border Collies there, but they got old and died. Welcome to my happy blog!

I also spent time with the demon cat.

I can’t help it. I LOVE HIM SO BAD.

oh, jeeebus, lady.

He did the thing again, though. I pulled up to my house just as my “you have a text” ding dinged. Come for the ice cream. Stay for the strong writing.

Anyway, it was my friend Sandy, wanting to embrace the Curly Girl method, and I wrote her back from my car, and when I looked up again…

FUCK

He lives to startle me. He’s my Uncle Jim, in cat form.

“You no, other cat liff here, too. We just so tire.”

I’ll talk to you tomorrow, if I live through this toe pain. If I don’t get hooked on the horse to get me through.

41 thoughts on “Disjointed”

I’m going to try Trim because I’ve been trying to get out of debt…. ummmm, always. I’ve never not had debt as an adult, which is so depressing. And in hopeful news, I started the year by having to replace my furnace ($5,000) and getting a giant bill from the IRS ($2,400). Sigh.

Anyway, I know the answer to your tech-y question. You download giphy and it attaches itself to your keyboard on your phone. I hope that helps. It just occurred to me you probably don’t blog on your phone. Jeez, I guess I didn’t know a tech-y thing.

Poor Letter C. I giggled at that. Not very nice of me I suppose. I’m not in on the bet, but I will be cheering you on from the sidelines. Stupid weight. Which one of the readers up there said she pretends fat doesn’t exist? I wish I could do that too. What a lot of energy we all use on it. Not enough to get rid of it apparently, but I feel I have wasted years of my life working out “extra” to fight it.

My toes have been broken a few times. I also broke the pinky toe before bed one night. I rushed out of ma room with the solid brass door stopper on the baseboard and it bent my toe sideways. OUCH! My best way for healing the least painful way is to wear a medical boot that is made to wear without a shoe. It basically is a flat wooden sole with canvas that velcros closed on top. Keeping the toe from bending is the key and taping also helps with that.

I hate BMI. I am on the line. One more point and I will be obese. But, although I agree that I am overweight, I am certainly not obese. If I were to weigh the “normal” weight for my height, I would look like they just rescued me from the Gulag, so go figure.

I broke a toe once. Son of biscuit eater that hurt so much. I broke down and cried one day because I almost missed the school bus due to hobbling. I’m in the middle of watching Good Fellas, again. Work is so slow it is torturing me.

Hope your toe heals quickly.
As I said on The Face, I’m in, if you really want to do this. Accountability is helpful and money is a great motivator. It’s stressful though. As I mentioned, I joined a 6 week challenge last month for which I had to put up a lot of cash. I lost weight the first week and then caught the flu. My trainer told me “no worries…take a week off and then double up on your 3 workouts a week and do 6.”
Say what now? It’s Day 11 since I got sick and I’m still recovering. I feel weaker than jelly under a butter knife. How the hell am I going to double up on already killer workouts?
But I do have a lot of weight to lose. My body fat percentage was a whopping 49% at my initial weigh-in. HALF OF MY BODY IS FAT, Y’ALL.

Mine is up there, too PSS. I irkedly told my doctor if losing weight was easy, everybody would be thin. I’m pissed. Gained nearly 20 since Halloween. Hating. What would it be like to not think of your weight EVERY. STINKING. DAY. of your life. Seriously, EVERY. STINKING. DAY.

My labs are color coded, green, yellow, red. My BMI is in the red. Last year I lost 20 lbs. on Eat to Live. Over the Christmas holidays I gained 12 lbs. It is so hard to lose and keep it off and my age doesn’t help. You my dear, are far from fat.

Why the eff are you hobbling around at work? Don’t you approve of presidents and their birthdays? Why that’s just WRONG. Then again, the world is your stage. What color is the pinkie toe ribbon? Bah hahahaha!

Owwwwwww. I have broken my pinky toes too many times to count. I’ve broken the ones next to pinky toes as well. Always at the most inopportune times, not that there’s ever a good time. Just call me graceful. Other than taping it, I have no advice.

Add me to the i need to lose weight list. Menopause has done a number on my weight and I’m not gonna take it anymore.

It wasn’t you. It was that bitch from New York, that wingnut who kept creating new Facebook profiles and IPs in order to keep commenting here. She said terrible things. I’ve forgotten most of them, but that one I recall. She was a sad, strange little person.

I would be down for a group weight loss challenge, there is some diet bet site I have seen out there but I don’t know anything about it. I am sure there are more savvy people out there to tell us about it.

I broke my “pointer finger toe” (as my son calls it) when we were moving three years ago, I could hear the crunch when I did it. The day after a C-section doesn’t hurt like a broken toe, so limp and moan all you want, you earned it.

As for your diet idea, my opinion is only you know what you need to do. People come in all shapes and sizes and while it’s easy to point to one person and think they need to lose weight, and comparatively the person beside them does not look like that, so they do not, it’s not that simple. You know your weight, your BMI and your medical history and what runs in your family. So you and your doc are the only ones, in my opinion, who can tell you what to do about your weight. That mumbo jumbo said, I’ll send Paula my five bucks when it’s time.

I am not on the book of face but my guess for the lukewarm participation for the diet wager is that you are not fat. Most of us would kill to have your figure. Now I know fat is a very relative term but that is just my thought.

F BMI. It is such an incorrect, misleading gauge of health. It does not account for the weight of muscles. My stupid doctor’s office, upon taking my weight and asking my height again each time, sometimes supplies me with this horribly embarrassing food chart. One side is for men, one side is for women. But they don’t ever tell you that you’re getting it because of your BMI measurement. I only figured it out because my billing statement said “BMI greater than normal.” Once I figured out this pattern I was pissed off each time I got THE SHEET. They can bite me. Oh, maybe they should bite a piece of me off so my BMI would be normal. Jerks.

Hope your toe heals soon. I broke my big toe on Thanksgiving and the toe and part of my foot turned black. It still hurts on occasion. I will pay $5 to help you lose weight, but I don’t want you to starve yourself to meet your goal.

I read that as “wildest flats” and wondered which set of your flats would be considered wild. Do you have wild flats? Then I understood. I was a little disappointed that you wrote “wide” and not “wild,” but either way I hope your fife playing is sympathy-provoking.

Oh I have felt your toe pain. I can count the number of broken toes I have had on, well, my toes. I am a careless rusher. And you’re right – there is no fix other than time. And the Hillbilly Heroin.

I already chimed in on your Lose Fat for Cash plan – girl, you don’t know fat. But I understand the need for external motivation and I applaud you for tackling those extra two or three pounds before they get out of control. God knows I should have done the same. Now I gotta tackle what amounts to an actual linebacker.